


Apple Blossom Time

by telanaris



Series: Arcana One-Shots [7]
Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Fluff, believing he can have a nice future, heart hunters prompts, julian being a cutie, palace ballroom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-27
Updated: 2018-05-27
Packaged: 2019-05-14 12:00:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14769200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/telanaris/pseuds/telanaris
Summary: prompted from Heart Hunter:“I heard they’ve got, a, uh, pretty good ballroom here. What say we break in and tango?”“It wasn’t all bad, my time at the palace,” he says, turning his eyes back to the door. “Lucio was, uh… intolerable company, always, but I found more than one occasion to slip away. Explore. And behind these doors, they have the most wonderful ballroom.” Julian turns to her with a brow raised, slipping his hands around her waist, drawing her close to him.“Let’s sneak in. Steal a dance.”





	Apple Blossom Time

**Author's Note:**

> I’d been toying with the idea of doing one-shots based on the lines in Heart Hunter since the feature came out, and after Book XI, well… I needed some cuteness. :l
> 
> Julian x F!MC, SFW. Takes place in Book X, after Julian has been “disguised” as a palace servant, when Portia, Julian and MC are searching for a path to the dungeon.

“Julia—Ian! Ian, wait!”

She hisses after him, nearly letting his real name slip, but it is no use. Julian is already off, down the hall, peeking discretely around corners as he saunters away from her. She follows the bright cream color of his borrowed servant’s uniform, desperate not to lose sight of him.

She swears loudly under her breath. Portia had been pulled away for  _just a minute_ , asked by another of the servants to give her approval to the menu they would be serving for the Countesses’ sisters, but that had been plenty of time for Julian to get some crazy idea in his head and wander off. His eyes had gone wide… then surprise had melted into that particular, mischievous grin.

He’d placed a hand on her shoulder, bent close enough to whisper in her ear, “I’ve remembered something,” then walked away before she had a chance to stop him, chasing a distant memory deeper into the palace. 

And Aredhel, she wants him to remember. Wants for him to find his truth as badly as he does himself. She just wishes he would slow down, wait to reunite with Portia—without her, Aredhel fears they’ll wander the palace until they’ve gotten lost.

Her fault, probably. After all, she has been more or less living in the palace for a week now, and she really should know her way around the place. But then again, she’s been spending most of her time outside the palace walls… chasing Julian.

 _Some things don’t change_ , she thinks to herself, but rather than frustrate her, the thought brings a fond smile to her lips.

When she finds Julian— _finally_ —some distance from where Portia had left them, his hands are perched on his hips, and he’s standing in front of a pair of large, ornate doors. They’re carved of a cherry-colored wood, decorated a pastoral scene, goats roaming through lush wooded hills, birds overhead. But Julian is not looking at the door. He’s looking right at her, and even in that ridiculous, limp wig he’s wearing, the winning grin he flashes her makes her stomach flutter.

(She’s been feeling uncharacteristically girlish since that morning, after helping Julian disguise himself in Portia’s hut. “ _I enjoy being with you_ ,” he had said, his cheeks rosy. “ _I want to hear you laugh, I want to see you smile, I want… I don’t want to hide anymore_.” For the first time, it seems possible, now that they know he is innocent: a life, spent with him, in the open. The thought makes her a little giddy.)

“What did you remember?” she asks him, her voice softer, less stern than she’d like. She’s still not pleased at how he’d run off, but it’s so hard—she can’t be mad at him, not when he’s looking at her like that.

“It wasn’t all bad, my time at the palace,” he says, turning his eyes back to the door. “Lucio was, uh… intolerable company, always, but I found more than one occasion to slip away. Explore. And behind these doors, they have the most wonderful ballroom.” Julian turns to her with a brow raised, slipping his hands around her waist, drawing her close to him. 

“Let’s sneak in. Steal a dance.”

For a moment, all she can do is blink at him. He’s still in such a good mood, she does not want to discourage him, but she cannot, for the life of her, believe that he’s being so cavalier about his safety. “That’s what you ran off for?” she hisses, incredulous. “We are separated from Portia, we have no map, I am useless at getting around here, and  _now_ —” she says, reaching out, shoving at the orate doors—as expected, they do not yield to her touch, “we are lost, at a dead end, in front of a locked door.”

But Julian only smiles at her. It is natural, he thinks, for her to be nervous in the castle—he probably should be, too—but there’s no harm in having a little fun. He’s an innocent man—what’s the worst that could happen? Besides, he knows her well by now. She has a mischievous streak too, a roguish side. Sometimes she just needs to be coaxed. 

“Now, I’m just a lowly temp. Just an assistant,” he croons, drawing her closer and pressing their foreheads together, “but they tell me you’re the finest magician in the city. I bet you could have that lock opening up for you with no more than a caress,” he lilts, punctuating his words by teasing his fingers down her waist, over her hip. “I doubt that it would pose a challenge to someone of your skill.”

Aredhel gazes at the lock longingly. Truthfully, it  _would_  be easy. She can’t explain why she is so good at picking locks with magic, though it does raise some very red flags. Still, no matter how she acquired the skill, she suspects she’s been good at it since she before she lost her memory; it was one of the quickest talents she picked up when Asra took her on as his apprentice. 

Asra’s always discouraged her from using it, though. Always tried to keep her close, cautious. She suspects, based on his reluctance, that there had been more than one occasion in which she’d wandered off, found something she shouldn’t have, and… hurt herself. Needed Asra to save her from another crippling headache, or the pain of a memory that should not have been restored. 

But Asra is not here. And her fingers are itching to try the lock. 

Julian is still grinning, reading the indecision on her face. “Come on,” he croons, nodding his head towards the door. “Give it a little hocus-pocus, the old razzle-dazzle. Won’t take a minute, I bet.”

His enthusiasm is infectious. And he thinks so highly of her, so confident in her magical aptitude, how is she supposed to deny him? She walks up to the door, places her palm flat against the keyhole. She closes her eyes, speaks an old mantra low under her breath… and her palm begins to glow, pale blue light licking the rams and the elk carved into the door. The door yields with a light click.

All told, cracking the lock takes her no more than ten seconds.

“Wow,” Julian says beside her. He’s crossed his arms, leaning sideways against the wall, the better to watch her as she works. His lips is tugged between his teeth, and he’s giving her his most flirty smile, his eye gleaming. “You really are something, aren’t you?” He licks his lips, leans closer to her, “Imagine,  _mm_ , what other applications we might find for that skill—restraints, harnesses—”

She’s terribly pleased with herself for working the lock so quickly, and she does not find the current line of Julian’s thought to be unappealing (quite the opposite—even the barest suggestion has her body coiling at the thought) but they are, after all, _still in the palace_ ; she schools her face into something stern. She leans closer to him, places the tip of her forefinger on his lips to silence him.

“Five minutes. That’s it. Then, we look for Portia.”

Behind her finger, Julian’s grin only widens. He straightens to push the door ajar for her. “Whatever you say, Miss Mooney,” he beams, before swanning into the ballroom behind her.

The ballroom is washed from floor to ceiling in the richest, most saturated carmine red. It looks like it could have been lifted directly out of one of the Count’s portraits, still hanging in his old wing. And it’s just as lavish: elaborate chandeliers of petaled glass hang in the alcoves, and sconces bedecked with several candles per arm flicker in the dim. Overhead, golden beams arch over a domed ceiling, painted with stars that catch the light and twinkle faintly above.

It is almost— _almost_ —enough to take her breath away. But Lucio’s fingerprint is evident in all the decorating choices, and (irrationally, she realizes) she does not want to give him credit for putting together such a beautiful room.

“I’m surprised Nadia ever allowed this,” she says, but her voice is breathier and less disapproving than she’d like it to be. “It’s so tacky.”

Julian steals a covert glance at her. “Lucio did have rather singular taste.” 

He gives her another moment, her eyes wandering over the room (plainly in awestruck wonder, despite her criticism) before he slips his white-gloved hand into hers, bowing at her side. “Still, the floor is ours, my dear,” he says, extending his free arm, beckoning her out onto the dance floor that has been polished to a shine. “Will you do me the honor?”

She blinks in surprise, before she remembers that, yes, this was the reason he’d asked her to break into the ballroom in the first place. Her surprise melts into a smile, and she clasps her hands tighter around his.

“It would be my pleasure, Doctor Devorak,” she tells him, dipping into a little curtsy.

Julian straightens, tugs her body closer to his, wrapping a firm arm around her back. He takes her left hand in his right, and her free hand comes to rest, gently, on the smooth cream-colored fabric of his servant’s uniform. 

For a moment he only holds her like that, staring at her. She watches his throat bob as he swallows, his smile twitching uncertainly, before he draws closer to her, leaning his cheek against the side of her head, humming a tune close to the shell of her ear as he begins to lead her in a series of slow, light steps. 

They shouldn’t be here. Portia’s absolutely going to kill her—between the two of them, Aredhel and Julian, Portia is definitely relying on Aredhel to keep her brother out of trouble—but, well. It’ll be worth it. 

Though the room is so big, so spacious, so magnificent… it fades away, beyond her perception. All she cares about, in this quiet moment, is Julian: the warmth of his body against hers, the promise of a future together, the song he sings to her, quietly, under his breath:

“ _I’ll be with you in apple blossom time,  
I’ll be with you, to change your name to mine…_ ”

His voice is soft, unusually timid. It does not ring with the same joking tone he takes when he’s fooling around. To be honest, he’s… cowed, a little, crowing this song—the first that occurred to him. And now, here he is, spinning her in his arms, singing about…  _marriage_ , of all things. The kind of distant dream he would have laughed at bitterly a few days ago, before he’d known he was innocent.

“ _One day in May, I’ll come and say,  
Happy the bride the sun shines on today…_ ”

And it’s too soon, he knows it. It’s only been—what, a week?—and it’s the kind of talk that’s sent former lovers running to the hills. But it feels so right, and she is only smiling at him, laughing lightly as he twirls her around the ballroom.

When she turns back into his arms, she curls closer, bringing her body flush to his. She slips her hand free to loop both her arms around his neck, looking up at him with her bright, green eyes. She looks… so  _happy_ , and he can feel a warmth blossoming in his chest at the knowledge that he alone has put that look on her face.

He always falls in love like this—hard, and too fast—but she is…  _really something_. Beyond words, how much he ( _too soon to say ‘love,’ even if he feels it_ ) cares for her, would do anything to make her smile like she is now, to keep her happy and safe.

“ _In September—you remember?_  
‘Neath the old apple tree, you whispered to me,  
When it blossomed again, you’d be mine…”

But then his voice cracks, fails. His feet still. His hands squeeze lightly at her waist, pulling her closer… he bites his lip, lifts a hand to push an errant lock of hair behind her ear.

“I can’t wait to take you dancing for real,” he confesses, quietly. He can feel his face growing hot—a blush spreading over his cheeks, not from exertion, but from the feeling of this, this…  _tenderness_ , this possibility of a life that feels so fragile and tenuous. He wants it so much it frightens him. “When we don’t have to hide. When I can show you off. I want to dance with you under the stars of seven different countries, learning all sorts of dances together—”

She hums, lifting her hand to push the lank dark wig hair out of his face, curling it behind his ear, exposing his red-stained eye. Both Julian’s eyes go wide in surprise, but she only smiles, swiping her thumb along the purple skin beneath his eyelid before she leans upwards and presses a gentle kiss to the high of his cheek, just below his lashes.

Julian laughs, a little nervously. His blush only deepens at the touch, and his look turns bashful. “What, uh… what was that for?”

Her fingers trail down his face, over his jaw, and the look she returns is dreamy. “It sounds so good, to hear you talk about your future that way,” she tells him. “Not about hanging, or punishment, but… hopefully. About building a life.”

Julian’s arms seize around her, wrapping tightly enough to lift her, slightly, onto her toes, far enough that he can press the tip of his nose to hers. He  _loves_  her—it’s true, no point denying it, not to himself, even if it has all happened so fast. 

“I never would have dared hope for it, if it hadn’t been for you, ‘Red.” His breath is warm on her cheek, his words quiet, whispered into what little space remains between them. “You… were like a bright, warm light, leading me out of the darkness. You showed me I could still hope for something better.”

She grins. He’s so close to her he barely catches it before she winds her fingers up the nape of his neck, beneath the cap of the wig, to lace into the auburn hairs hidden beneath it before she draws his head down to hers and kisses him.

He surges to meet her—he holds nothing back. She moves her mouth against his and it steals the breath from his lungs, leaves him light-headed, moaning lightly against her lips as the kiss deepens—

But then she pulls away. One of them, Aredhel reasons, has to hold on to some sense; Julian’s not out of the woods yet. Innocent though he may be, she’d still rather he not be caught before they have the proof to back it up.

“Come on,” she says, sneaking her hand out from under his wig and adjusting the cap so it sits nicely once again, falling into his face and obscuring his red eye.  Then she draws away, pulling him back towards the doors, towards the hall. “We should go find Portia. She’ll be worried.”

“One more kiss, first,” Julian pleads, spinning her back into his arms. And he looks so dashing in that cravat, she can’t refuse him. She lets him pull her close, press his lips to hers.

But after the first peck, “one more,” he whispers, grinning as he takes her mouth into a second, more languid kiss. And then, lips still pressed to hers, the mumbled words, “one more—”

Aredhel laughs, pushing him away. “Come on, Ian,” she asserts, but the chastisement is good natured, a twinkle in her eye. “Play time is over. We’ve got work to do.”

They’ve still got to find the dungeon, get the incontrovertible proof that will save Julian from a short drop at the gallows. But they’ll find it: Aredhel knows it. And then, when he is free… then, they will have all the time in the world, for dancing and kisses both.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed my writing, please consider following me on tumblr where I write as 4biddenleeches. :) Come chat with me about my favorite disaster doctor! And my prompt box is always open if there is something particular you’d like to see.


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